Bruised: A Destiel AU
by Bunny2412
Summary: When the Winchester boys entered into New Oak high school, they figured everything would go normally. Castiel figured his senior year would go as his Junior year did. Smoothing sailing. Little did the boys know this year would leave them all bruised. Cover done by the amazing CanvasWonder at: www.fanfiction(.)net/u/4734274/CanvasWonder . Thank you!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

They had made it an entire month into the new school year. The weather had started to cool and clubs were just starting up again. The football team would be having their fourth game on Friday where they would hopefully continue on their undefeated streak. Their talented linebacker, Castiel Jimmy Novac-or Cas for short, sat in his first block English class, listing to the chatter of his peers quite as the bell rung, starting class.

"Good morning students," The booming and fimular voice of the teacher hushed the lingering of conversations between his students. "As you can see, we have a new student. This is Winchester," He paused and seemed to motion to the tall, dark haired boy wrapped in a brown leather jacket. His hands shoved in the pockets of his well-worn jeans, he gave an annoyed smile that rose an eyebrow which widened his shockingly green eyes. Before the teacher could ask him to take a seat, Dean took it into his own hands and slipped into the only open desk.

"When we left on Friday, Class, we…" The teacher, , attempted to pull his classes attention away from the new kid, who was currently defacing school property by scribbling on the desk in front of him, and back to the board. But Hunt didn't care what the boy was doing any more than , who sat in the desk beside Dean, could care to listen to the lesson.

" ," An annoyed voice breaks the student away from his train of thought. The blue eyed senior looks up in a silent answer of 'what?' to which his teacher demands to see if he had done his weekend homework.

"I have it done," He answers, a bit of attitude towards the teacher who was now crossing his arms and tilting his head in disbelief. The sass in his tone, however, didn't seem to fit with his innocent face.

"Well in that case, I don't suppose you'd have a problem with catching Mr. Winchester up to speed." It was not a question, but an order to which the teenager almost nodded in agreement. He seemed to catch himself, though, and change the action to a roll of his blue eyes before he turned his attention towards Deans green ones.

"We're reading this," Castiel states in a deadpan tone as he lifts up his copy of _Moby Dick. _"There's a test on Friday, you have to be halfway through the book." Dean had hardly lifted his head, but gave a little nod of understanding to the boy in the Sports Jacket. Castiel gave another roll of his blue eyes and turned back to the front of the classroom where he zoned out and paid no attention to the lesson which had already continued. It wasn't as if he didn't know the stuff already.

An hour later, the shrilling bell rung again, this time to dismiss the students to their second block. Castiel, grateful to finally be free, bolted from the room to the bathroom. While most would have simply mistaken the way the jock couldn't sit still through his first block as a major need to pee, Castiel knew it was something else. If only he could figure out what. Or why he couldn't stop thinking of the perfect green of Deans eyes.

Dean Winchester, already tired of this school, didn't bother rushing to his next class-which he wasn't completely sure it was. He wouldn't bother to memorize the path through the halls that he would be taking every day for only the next week or so. After his father finished up work, he'd be on the road again, so what's the point. He took his time moving through the crowded halls where he stood straighter to hold his ground. It felt good to move again, see as he couldn't find a way to stop his leg from bouncing in first block. He felt as though he could work for hours and still have energy. The worst part of it all was that he couldn't seem to get that Novak kid's voice out of his head. What the hell was going on with him?

Dean had just hardly made it through his middle two classes, both of which he found useless, without exploding. The history schools taught was useless for a hunter like himself, and he, at 17, already knew more Latin then his teacher did. At least at lunch, which had been nothing short of a pain in the ass, he realized that the jitters from first block had stopped sometime through the day. Overally, Dean found the day to be an utter waste of time he could be spending on guns. He made his way towards his fourth block shop class. Hopefully this could at least be entertaining. He braced himself, upon walking into the classroom, for yet another interdiction to his whole class who will stare at him with less intelligence then a monkey. But, to his relief, the shop teacher only nodded and pointed out a seat for Dean to take. Silently thankful, he slid into the spot assigned and wordlessly took out his notebook where he had scribbled ideas for the first project he had to make up. He had already met up with along with every other teacher Dean would be taking classes of for the semester, except for his English teacher who hadn't been there that afternoon the Winchesters came into town. And like ever other teacher, Cobain had told Dean what he would need to do to catch up with the class and by what date. But this was the only class Dean intended to do that for.

The green-eyed new boy was focused intently on his notebook when Castiel walked in and, with hesitation, took his normal seat beside what use to be an empty chair. He didn't speak a word because he couldn't find the ones to use. As the room gained people, however, the talk between their classmates-about their weekend, or their day, or whatever else they could possibly find to chatter about-filled the room with useless white noise that wasted air. Castiel, whos hearing was more advanced than most, felt as if his head would soon explode as he caught spare words or sentences exchanged between his peers. It only proved it to him that these people spoke only to hear themselves talk. Thankfully, the tarty bell run and shushed the class enough to allow his teacher to silence them, thus relieving Cas of his future headache for now. The kid next to him, Dean, glanced up from his notebook every so often and almost showed some form of interest in what the teacher was talking about.

"This next project," says, finally reaching his point, "will be a group project. You can have up to four but no less than two. The person you're sitting beside will have to be in your group. Choose wisely; you have one minuet."

Each of them groaning internally, the two boys turned towards each other while the class scrambled around them to make groups. Having no interest in interacting with more people than necessary, they didn't even bother to glance around the class. Instead, the two high school teens used the next minuet to look over each other, trying to figure the other out. As if squinting their blue and green eyes could unlock the other person and they would fall open like books, revealing the secrets held within their hardened cover.

Castiel noticed things about the boy he had looked over in the first block. His brown hair which was styled to stick up seemed slightly greasy, as if he didn't have the chance to wash it often. His face which read to be closed off and hardened, was decorated in freckles. Cas didn't even try to glance towards the boys eyes, unsure how his body would react and not wanting to risk it. Deans clothes were all well-worn, if not overused. The jacket, which seemed a little big on teenage frame, had places where holes were forming which could only come from years and years of rough usage. The last thing Castiel noticed in his minuet of looking the teen over was a thick leather cord around his neck that tucked into his shirt.

Dean looked over the jock in the way he had been taught, cold, quick, and emotionless. The first thing he noticed was a stain of blood on the boys jacket. He found finger shaped bruises on the wrist that was left exposed by his jacket slipping up. His shirt was a well pressed polo that had to be laid out by an overbearing mother. His hair was well done and his skin was clear but he wore bags under his eyes that came close to matching Deans. Somehow, he hid them well from his peers. He seemed to wear no jewelry except for a mass-produced leather braded bracelet that read Anna. Dean could only guess it was a girlfriend.

The teacher called them all to attention again with the loud clap of his hands. While he explained how the project would work, Cas found himself zoning out in thought. Every so often, his blue oceans of eyes would drift their way in the direction of Deans stubbled chin and messily spiked brown hair. What was he doing? He had a date with Anny this weekend. Pretty Anny with the red hair and pink lips. With her olive green eyes that showed pain and the scars on her arms she tried hard to cover in makeup. She was so caring and kind and, as his friend said, "had nice tits and a sweet ass," which Castiel guessed was things boys should care about. Why would he even spare a glance at this boy he didn't know? Why would he-

"So this should be a blast," the same boy Castiel had been questioning mutters under his breath, breaking Cas away from his train of thought. He's looking expectedly at his new shop partner, no doubt for input on the instructions he hadn't been listing to. So, at a lost, he returned Deans expectant look with one of lostness and confusion.

"If you meatheads can't even listen, why bother taking the damn class?" Dean growls lowly, his annoyance at the jock, who showed no sign of listing to Dean either, dripping from his voice. Dean turned to a fresh page of his book and started scribbling something in a tiny scrawl that no one would be able to read but himself. "We're spose to be making a working robot." He mutters to the football player beside him. "One person does the bot, the other makes the motor." Dean pulls his eyes from the blue and red lined paper back up to Castiel. "So which do you want?"

"Doesn't matter to me."

"Helpful," Dean rolled his eyes, his voice soaking in sarcasm. "I'll do the motor, but first I need ideas for how this thing'll work. Do you-"

"Does this work?" Castiel asks, pushing a notebook with a detailed drawing of a miniature robot. Certain parts on the bot were pointed out with a scrawled script beside it, explaining what the use of each part was and notes on how it would be made. Dean looked over the picture, stunned. "It's a hobby of mine." Cas speaks up, answering the silently asked question. "but do you think it'll work."

"Um.. yeah, sure. It'll work great. Just it can't be taller than two feet and wider than one and a half, " Dean explains, pulling the drawing closer to him. "What kind of oil does this take?"

The two boys lean over the paper, fixing, adjusting, and improving the plan for their bot. They each say minimal amount of words to each other but work together well for the rest of the period. Walking out of the class, Dean felt relieved he was paired with someone that knew what they were doing and was excited about their plan. Sadly, the jittery feeling was back, he noticed.

Castiel walked out of the classroom, feeling okay for once. He wasn't stressed or annoyed for once as he made his way through the mass of students towards football practice. He had too much energy again, his hands jittery and shaky as they had been at the end of first block. Maybe it was just stress about Fridays game, he tried to reason with himself but knew that wasn't it.


	2. Chapter 2

You all are so incredibly awesome that I decided to update already! Here you are, the (MUCH LONGER) Chapter Two! Enjoy!

**Chapter 2**

"So Jimmy boy, " The teams star kicker, Max, calls from down the row of lockers, shirtless as he wipes sweat from his body so he can wear normal clothes home. Castiel rolled his eyes at his teammates annoying use of his middle name as he packs his padded gear into his locker and gathers his stuff. He already wore a short sleeved shirt under his gear so he wouldn't have to undressed fully in front of his team. He was too worried they would notice the large amount of scrapes and bruises on his body-too many to explain fully. Thankfully his legs were clean enough for him to change into his jeans before leaving. That was his routine each day. Get into the lockers before anyone else to change into his gear in silence and be the first to leave wearing his cleats so the walk home wasn't as rough on his feet. As long as he could get his jacket on quick enough no one noticed the bruised arms of their linebacker and no questions were asked.

"What do you want, Max?"

"What do you think of the new kid? Dean? Looks like an easy target, huh?" Max is grinning along with Nicolai starts to snicker in a sinister sort of way that makes Cas frown deeper.

"I can't wait to get my hands on that punk. The little shit thinks he's just so cool," He mocks, a grin on his face.

"Who are you guys talking about?" Ben pipes up, always eager to start things in the school halls.

"This new kid in our History class. Thinks he's just the shit," Max explains.

"Yeah, thinks he's all bad ass or something. He was either sleeping or flirting with someone the entire class."

"Damn, those guys are the worse," Ben adds

_Because I'm sure that was hindering you not paying attention. _Cas though, rolling his eyes as he shut the door of his locker. Sadly, this brought the boys attention back to him.

"So Cas, you gonna whoop the kids ass?" Max asks, his gang of two now turned towards him also.

"You know I don't like violence," He mutters, zipping up his bag. "I mean, who cares if he wasn't paying attention in class. You were probably sexting your girlfriend anyway so it didn't affect you." Max turned a shade of red from either embarrassment or anger and the boys around them laughed. This confused Cas, he didn't mean for that to be funny. "And he hasn't done anything wrong, so why beat him up?"

"Ah, Cas. Still young and innocent," Nicolai says, ruffling the linebackers hair as he passed on his way out the door, backpack swung over his back. "You don't need a reason to beat someone up. The punk deserves it."

"I'm five months older than him," Cas mumbles in confusion, but didn't stop as he left the locker room. He checked the time and sighed, knowing his uncle hadn't yet left for the nightshift and his parents weren't yet home from work. The only good news would be the fact Lucifer, his older brother, wouldn't yet be back from class. He cursed the day that his brother had decided to go to a collage close enough to home that he didn't have to dorm there. He also cursed his parents for letting him-not that he'd let them hear. There wouldn't be any cursing in his home, it was a sign of the devil.

As he walked home, Cas thought back to how much begging it had taken him before his parents allowed him to join public school in his junior year, even though he already knew ten times as much as the school could teach him after the teens homeschooling. However, he wanted two years to be allowed the experience of a typical teen before he would go into collage. His parents were fighting against it with every bone they had, but once Lucifer got accepted into not one, but four pubic collages and no private christen collages-his name might have had something to do with it-they had no feet to stand on. Thus Castiel was enrolled in the local school.

The boy wondered now if it was worth it.

He had entered the school a year ago, full of nerves and confusion as he watched hug and laugh one moment and push each other through the halls the next. He didn't understand why the boys would smack each other on the back and congratulate one about "getting with" a girl and innocent Cas would flinch at every curse word tossed out carelessly. He knew by what he'd been taught that each one of his classmates would be going to hell but in an odd way, this was exciting.

He had tried out for football over the summer, his dad sure that was Castiels ticket to a normal, stress free school experience, and somehow he made it in. The football team sure didn't like it and admittedly Cas didn't either. He was picked on and tossed around on the field for a sport he wasn't even sure he was playing right. His team members would complain about how he hadn't 'earned a spot on the team' until the fight came.

Two days into his new school years, a fight broke out. Two girls who Castiel hadn't even seen in the halls before, went at each other. It happened right in front of him and within seconds his ears were filled with the yelling and noise of the students that crowded around him and pushed him closer to the two girls. Castiel was stunned and confused-his heart feeling like it had stopped and dropped to his stomach like a rock. No teachers were taking action and the students were only encouraging the two of them. Castiel, acting on nothing but adrenalin and impulse, pushed through the few students in front of him and tried to break up the two girls.

This resulted in a battered, bloody Castiel who would have been in much worse shape if it wasn't for the two gym teachers who had pushed their way through the crowd to break them up. But while Castiel expected teasing and harsh words, he actually got respect from his team. And with that came respect from the school.

Cas still didn't understand High School. He didn't understand why people were so excited about fights. In fact, going into this school made him question everything he knew. If the other teens were okay with sinning, were these things really sins? Surely all these people couldn't be going to hell.

Castiel shook off that train of thought and tried to move on to a different one when he realized he had reached home. He looked up at the sturdy built brick house and thought of what laid inside for him. In the driveway sat a ratty old red pickup truck the teen had days working on. Repairing and even making parts for the junker who could hardly move, he thought the mode of transport would be his for the school year. However, his parents quickly vetoed that, saying his uncle would need it. Even though the car was always there when Castiel needed it, he wasn't allowed to use it because 'Uncle Jerry might need it when you're gone'. The teenager rolled his eyes and held his breath as he opened the door to the house. Like always, the stench of alcohol greeted him back home.

The crack of Deans calloused hands breaking the uncooked spaghetti noodles in half echoed throughout the almost barren, run down motel. The noodles fell into the boiling water with a slight hiss as Dean turned back to his younger brother.

"So Sammy, how was your first day of high school?" He asked the boy who was working on homework at the dinner table. The mop of brown hair lifted his head enough to glare at his brother and correct his use of name. "It's Sam." To which Dean only rose an eyebrow, refusing to correct his mistake and expecting an answer to his question.

"It was fine," Sam mumbled, finishing a question before setting his pencil down on the table. "Made a friend.I even talked to a few girls." The freshman wiggles his eyebrows, hoping his brother-the womanizer he is-would be proud of him.

"Yeah? What did you do?" Dean says, a smile on his face for the first time today as he took the seat across from his brother.

"Well," Sam started, a grin forming on his face that only got wider as he explained how he pulled in his first three phone numbers of the year; all three of which decorated his inner arms. Dean went from sitting across the table to back at the stove, stirring their dinner as Sam told his story.

"Well done," Dean nodded, rather amused at what the freshman had learned over the years. "You might actually be competition this year." The Winchester brothers, for years, had an unspoken battle over who could get more girls numbers throughout the course of each new school-however long they stayed. Dean, being older and having more of an interest in girls at a younger age, won each time. However, in the last town the Winchesters had stayed at, Sam had almost gotten his first girlfriend. The boy would have, Dean knew, if his father hadn't shipped them out here when he did. Dean remembers begging his father for one more week in the town, just so Sammy could have a real life experience for once. Dean also remembers the bruise he got from questioning his fathers authority.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts of the memory, Dean became aware of his sibling calling his name behind him.

"Yeah Sammy?"

"It's Sam. I was asking how many girls numbers you got."

"None yet," Dean says, a chuckle in his voice. He had been flirting with one girl in History class and came damn close to getting more than her number-that's what Dean was after this year. He was a senior and this would be the last chance he had to get easy access to girls and any sort of freedom. As the sex driven teenager he was, Dean planned to use it to his advage by skipping the numbers and going for the bedroom.

"Slacker," Sam mumbled just loud enough for his brother to hear before turning his attention back to his homework. Seconds later he got attacked by a hot-but not burning-spagatti noodle which stuck to his head.

"Guess it's done," Dean laughed.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Smiles and chuckles lightened the mood of the darkened motel and Deans day. For a while, the two went on with the activities in silence until the older brother announced dinner was ready. Sam cleared the table and set out three of the motels plates and two canned Pepsis; they were easy to keep in the car for the hunters long trips. His dad would have a beer when he got home but Dean wouldn't take it out until the man stepped through the door. This occurred shortly after the eldest had served the food onto his brothers plate, the door swinging open to reveal a grimy, battered, exhausted man. He hadn't shaved or slept well in a few days, this fact given away by the growing beard and bags under his eyes.

"Anything turn up?" Dean asks, his way of asking about his Father's day. To which, John Winchester responded with a grunt and shuffling across the motel floor. He took his seat at the end of the table, the plate filled with dinner and a cold beer placed there only a moment later by Sam.

It was strange for the three Winchester boys to be present for dinner; sadly this didn't occur tonight either. While three bodies sat at the table-three men finished the large pot of food, but the three men were not mentally at that table.

Sam was absorbed in thinking back over his first day of school. He thought through his classes and his teachers-sorted which ones would be harder than others. He thought of the girls he talked to and the one he got a whole seven digits from. He thought of scrawling two other numbers on the inside of his arm before he went home- an attempt to impress his elder brother. He thought through those seven digits, said them over and over in his head. The Freshman had already memorized them, excited to experience what Dean had for as long as he could remember-girls.

Dean thought through not school, but people. Sammy who sat across from him with worry on his face. His father who looked far from calm and close to pissed and was almost done with his first beer. Castiel who, for whatever reason, he couldn't get out of his head. The bruise on his wrist that looked too much like fingers to be anything else. The two lughead football players who sat behind him in History class who he could tell were going to be trouble.

John Winchester seemed to be absorbed in his food, moving on quickly to his second plate and downing the beer just as quickly. He was thinking through his day as well, but it was nothing like the his boys days were. The adult of the three males was the reason the family was down in their tenth town this year-leaning on a new record. As a hunter, John was forced to move constantly, living in old motels and their car-a 1967 Chevy Impala. The boys, young Sam especially, have grown up this way. It was no way to live, Daddy Winchester knew, but it was happening anyway. Ever since Mary, the boys' mother and Johns loving wife, died 13 years ago, the broken family was dragged from one side of the country and back in the black car learning how to do what John does-hunt the things that go bump in the night. Now they were stuck in Motel West so John could kill the monster he was hunting before they drive away in the night and move once again. So at the black countertop of the motels kitchen table, John thought through his clues on the case for the umpteenth time that day, trying to find a lead he had missed or a detail he had overlooked. Getting more frustrated by the second, it wasn't any surprise when he snapped.

"Why the hell is the food gone?" He demanded, his voice oddly calm.

"Because we don't have anymore, Sir." Dean mumbles, glancing up only to silence his younger brother with his eyes.

"Then make something else."

"We don't have anything, Dad," Sam speaks up, finishing off his own plate so there wasn't a noodle left. Deans head flicked up and he narrowed his eyes at his younger brother.

"Go to your room, Sam," John said, his voice tight with no room for an argument. This combined with the look Dean was giving him made Sam sigh and nod. He set his plate in the sink and stuck his unopened soda back in the fridge before walking off to the small room he and Dean shared.

From where he sat in his side of the small twin bed, he heard the low rumbling of the argument between his father and brother. He heard the squeal of the chairs being pushed back too fast along the floor and clattering to the ground. He heard the thud of skin absorbing the contact of a hit. He heard his name being thrown back and forth. Dad believing that Sam needed to learn how to steal so he could survive in this life. Dean insisting that Sammy would make it out of here and have a better life. Dad sure that no son of his wanted to-they all wanted to find revenge against the monster that killed their mother and broke their family.

Dean walked in a while later, his hand placed over his side and a bruise forming on his arm.

"So how bad was his day?" Sam asked. The boys could always tell how bad Johns day has gone by the anger he had. Dean cracked a smile at the question and sat down on his side of the bed.

"Not too bad. He's had worse."

It always starts this way, Castiel knows. A beer bottle lays sideways on the table. Another on the counter. The next collapsed on the carpeted floor of the living room right beside the worn down old couch. And on top of that couch lay Uncle Jerry, drunk and angry. The youngest of the Novac family knew better than to poke or prod at the should-be-comatose drunk but rather just go about his business. However, Cas always seemed to anger his uncle.

"Jimmy," A low growl sounded from the living room but echoed throughout the empty home. "Bring me another beer."

Cas rolled his eyes but did what he asked, his cleats making a soft clicking noise on the hard-wood floor until he reached the carpet. He handed his uncle the bottle and had to resist the urge to pick up the others laying beside the couch. For whatever reason, the overgrown child didn't like things to be neat. He drops the now empty bottle so it clangs against the first one before taking the one Cas handed him.

"My name's Castiel," He mumbled, ignoring the cap that was thrown and hit his forehead.

"Dumb ass name. Your parents are idiots. Why the hell do you still have those damn cleats on?" Jerry yells, forgetting that he helped choose the teenagers angelic name.

"I haven't had a chance to take them off," He explains patiently, forcing back the poison rising in his throat and the feeling of dread churning his stomach.

"Bull shit," Jerry sits up on the couch, swaying slightly due to the fact this was his fifth beer. "Don't lie to me, you stupid kid. Go take them off. Now."

"Yes Sir," Castiel grumbles, bending down to untie the laces. He just got both shoes off when a blow was sent onto his side, forcing the teen onto his butt on the hardwood floor. He winced, knowing he would be bruised tomorrow.

Somehow, his uncle had pulled himself off the couch and could find enough balance to startle the teen with his first blow.

"You're such an idiot, Jimmy. You're stupid. You can't even take your damn shoes off at the door. You're a disrespectful, idiotic, little shit." Another blow hit as Castiel was trying to move out of the way. The teenager had lived with this long enough to know not to fight back-it would only get him a harder punch, another kick, or something worse. Still, acting on instinct the boy would curl up and attempt to protect his head and his more vital organs. That somehow didn't seem to stop him from getting bruised there by his uncles boots. Another kick landed at the base of the boys spine, making him cry out slightly which only angered his abuser further. The punches and kicks seemed to get harder the longer he laid on the floor. He was deafened by his own heartbeat pounding in his ears but he could, ever so faintly, hear the harsh words which echoed throughout the house. Castiel didn't need to hear them, though, to know what they were. It was the same angry, hurtful monologue between hits. The damaging words were yelled loud enough that Cas often questioned how no one herd. Why did no neighbors complain or passerbys stop to wonder?

A smash and burning pain up his side singled to Castiel that the beer bottle was broken, pieces of the tinted glass embedded into his side as the sticky liquid coated his body and stained his shirt. A final kick and a combination of slurred words and finally it was over, for now. Jerry left with the order to clean the kitchen as he stormed out towards the junker of a car to go to "work" which was just more drinking with his friends and hitting on girls.

Cas laid on the wooden floor for a minute, trying to mentally assess his wounds and catch his breath. His fingers closing around the countertop, the teenager pulled himself off the ground and went to get the broom.

Twenty minutes later, Cas was upstairs, stripping himself of the blood and alcohol stained clothes. He threw them in the washer, set to cold, and went back to his room in only his boxers. After cleaning and dressing his burning cuts, he checked over the bruises and already patched up cuts. He let out a deep sigh and winced, the burning worsening with the movement.

"Damn him." The low mumbled curse was only herd by Cas as he pulled on his school clothes and jogged downstairs to check that everything was cleaned. Finding no sign of blood, glass, or alcohol, Cas was relieved for all of two seconds until his blue eyes found the clock. He was already late on starting dinner so he had no time to do homework until after he got off the phone with Anna tonight.

"Which means another late night. Joy."

"So Lucifer," says as dinner starts. The middle of three boys rolls his eyes slightly before looking up at his father with a smile. "How are classes going."

"Good. They're…" The mindless conversation drifts around the table, each parent jumping in and making a comment as Castiel ate in silence. It had been like this for years, starting after Gabriel left for a big shot collage with a job in waiting all the way in New York. The departure of the caring eldest brother should have made Lucifer, being the next in line, open to new responsibilities. However, he simply passed each and every duty-even his school work-onto young Castiel at the age of 13. Doing work two years ahead of his grade level challenged and pushed the boy but also damaged his sense of self-worth. Instead of a teenager, growing and learning, he saw himself as an idiot who was alive for only the use of others. His parents, unable to believe such good Christian boys would bully anyone, especially their own brother, refused to believe that Lucifer would be doing such a thing. Before Gabriel came home for the first time in November that first year, his baby brother had already been broken. He took on the bulling, harsh words, and orders Lucifer dished out along with the abuse Jerry gave without even batting an eye.

_"Are you getting hurt?" _Cas remembers his 19 year old brother asking as he sat beside the 13 year old in their old bedroom. Castiel had shaken his head and insisted that it had only been that one slap. That Uncle Jerry didn't mean it. That Lucifer was just rough, not hurtful. That the bruises were from falling. Whatever it took to keep Gabriel out of the mess his life had become. Gabe had a chance and Castiel could take care of himself, he was sure of it. _If only I could be as sure of it now.._

"Castiel?" His mothers worried voice snaps the teen out of his trance, blue eyes flickering up to meet his mothers brown. "Are you alright?" Her eyes, darkened with worry, flicked down to look at the bruise on her sons wrist.

"Yeah, I just got beat up a little at practice. We get rougher as we get into the season," He lies flawlessly without a moment's pause as he tugs his sleeve of his shirt back down. "Sorry, I was thinking about something else. What did you say?"

"We were asking of you had a good day today. If your classes are doing okay," His father says, his mother relaxing now that she had a logical expiation for the sick looking, hand shaped bruise on her sons wrist.

"Yes, there going well. There's a new kid in my shop and English class so that's different," The boy shrugs, acting as thought he boy he couldn't seem to get out of his head was nothing more than a new kid. That's all he should be.

"That's interesting." His mother nods, forcing a smile past her pink lips. "How's Anna?"

"Anna? She's fine.." Cas paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow. "You just saw her yesterday." Anna was Castiels third girlfriend but the first his parents really approved of being that she was as Christian as they are. Sadly, they always seemed to bring her up when Castiel talked about anyone else in his school. They were convinced she would be the one.

"Well, a lot can happen in a day," Father Novac says, smiling at his sons who went back to their dinners, uninterested. When they were excused, Castiel retired to his room to call his girlfriend and stay up for most of the night doing homework, feeling more alone and confused than ever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The rest of the week went as normal. Sam continued to talk to the one girl whos number he did get and every few days faked a number or two so Dean would smile at him proudly. Sammy didn't know that Dean smiled proudly at him a lot, just when he wasn't looking. Dean continued to walk through the halls normally, finally relaxing into his classes. He would firt and joke and before long he became something of a class clown. The more popular crowd of the school, the jocks and cheerleaders, weren't amused by his in class distractions; probably because that was once their job. Nonetheless, Dean enjoyed it. He got people talking to him, girls gawking at him, and, on occasion, he could catch a certain blue eyed linebacker trying to smother his smile at one of Deans jokes. He knew it couldn't last long, but the eldest Winchester son was somewhat happy at school. It was an escape from the tense silence of his home where he stood tall and followed ordered like a solider or got hit. Sometimes, he got hit anyway. What scared Dean the most was Sammy's attempts to take a hit in the place of his brother. Sam was trying to take Deans job as a protector.

Castiels week went with more bumps and holes than normal, like a old dirt road. He couldn't figure out why he felt different in his first and last classes of the day when he sat next to Dean Winchester. He couldn't explain why he was so unnerved by the talk of beating this boy up, a talk that echoed through the locker room like it was a group exercise. His teammates couldn't understand why Castiel was sticking up for this boy. Overall, Dean Winchester had created many bumps along the road for Cas. It seemed the one thing the boy could be sure of was the abuse he suffered at home, the self-hatred he suffered alone, and the blind eyes of his parents.

"So are you going to the game tonight, Dean?" Lisa, a black haired, olive skinned, flawless beauty flashed her white smile at the spikey haired flirt beside her in History. This was one of the few girls Dean had been hitting on over the past week. She wasn't an easy crack, though, and that's what made Dean interested.

"I don't think so," The teen says, leaning his chair back and putting his feet on the desk in front of him. He relaxed himself, making himself at home in the classroom that he was almost out of. For a whole weekend he would be stuck at home, either practicing with the guns, taking care of Sam, or, if he got lucky, helping his dad on the hunt. He didn't have time to be a teenager. To go to a game and party.

"Aw come on! It'll be fun!" The three girls around him coursed, as if that could convince him. Dean gave a small smile and a shake of his head.

"Sorry girls." He got the words out moments before the shrill bell rang and the class made a dash for the door. Dean took his time, saying goodbye to the girls before packing his stuff. Throwing one strap of his old, warn, falling apart backpack, Dean started for the door when not one, but two large bodies shouldered into him from behind. The boy, weak from a few days of not eating, stumbled and almost fell flat on his face there on the floor. The two football jocks made their way out the door, laughing as Dean narrowed his green eyes, darker with annoyance, at them. After collecting what fell from his bag, the teen made his way out the door before his teacher could stop him.

Castiel couldn't help but feel relieved when he sat down in his next class. Forcing ones way through the halls always seemed to be more difficult on a Friday, especially if that Friday hosted a home game. Sometimes the teen wondered how he made it from class to class without getting trampled. He felt a bit more relieved when Dean Winchester took his normal seat beside him seconds before the bell rung.

"Okay, you guys know what to do. Work on projects. Keep it down. Don't hump each other." The teacher says before taking his place back behind the desk to work on papers. Castiel turned to find an annoyed looking boy beside him taking out his notebook. Seeing as the pair of them were farther ahead than planned on their project, Cas decided he could sacrifice a little time.

"Something wrong?" The blue eyed teen asks nervously, his true self showing through the "I'm a bad ass football player" bullshit. Deans confusion flashed on his face as he turned towards the boy.

"Everythings fine. Just a few jockasses in my last block," Dean shrugs, dismissing the problem before turning back to the list of things he had yet to do. The entire page was a mess of things he needs to get done on the bot whenever he had time. Some things were scratched out as a sign of accomplishment or had notes scribbled onto it in frustration. While the list still had a hefty amount of ink unscratched, begging to be done, the two were a good week ahead of every other group in the class. So instead of pulling out his notebook and starting on work, he decided to chat with his partner.

"So you going to the game tonight?" Cas found himself rubbing on a fresh bruise that laid on his arm as he spoke. The action sent pain up his entire arm that was bad enough to make him clench his teeth. For whatever reason, he always found himself nervous when in Deans company, but in a different way than the nerves he experienced in school or in the locker room with his team. It was a butterflies in his gut, tripping over words, smiling kind of nervousness. Not the painful, fear-like, jumpy nerves he was so use to. Even though he couldn't explain it, Castiel found himself rather calm in Deans company-except for the incisive need to move at all times and the pounding of his heart he, more often than not, herd in his ears. The teenagers hopeful green eyes and everlasting sent of leather and soap typically relaxed Castiels muscles and calms the boys nerves that were constantly on end.

"Nah, I don't think so," Deans response pulled Cas out of his thoughts and back to Earth.

"Not into football?"

"Not into high school." Cas couldn't help the laughter that bubbled in his throat.

"You're kidding me right?" He says as Dean looks up and shakes his head. "Come on, you've been here for a week and now you've got every girl here wrapped around your fingers. You've literally passed every awkward part of a new kid coming into town; it's like you've lived here for years. If anyones a high school person, it's you."

"I'm use to changing scenery. Doesn't mean I enjoy it," Dean mumbles, looking back down at his paper.

"Well maybe this'll be a change you will enjoy. Give it a try," Cas tries, finally giving in and pulling out his notebook.

Dean didn't respond for a long time, but instead started a new page in the notebook, trying to sketch out a component of the bot he'd have to help with. His mind, however, was on a different subject seeing as the bot ended up looking too much like a football. Scowling, Dean erased the sketch and sighed. Given the break, he let his eyes glance over and find the linebackers bruised wrist beside him. The finger shaped mark was turning yellow and green but still looked sore. Behind that, he could see skin tinted a darker color, resembling another set of broken blood vesicles. However, because he could be mistaken it for the shadow of the players coat, he didn't look too long.

"When does this game start?" Dean grumbles, somewhat opening up to the idea for reasons not even he knew.

"Five thirty," Cas says with a smile. "Tickets are two dollars at the door, but if you give em this they'll let you in for free." The jock pulled out a plastic card.

"New Oaks High School Football Seasonal Family Pass," Dean read aloud, raising an eyebrow.

"Family doesn't come to the games," Castiel explains, seeming completely content with this fact. Dean knew it had to sting though. "Said it's too sinful."

"Sinful, eh? Have they seen the school the games belong to?" Dean smirks, fighting a chuckle.

"Thankfully no. They refused to step inside the doors. If they did I might end up being homeschooled through collage too."

"Ohh, that would be rough. My dad tried to homeschool us once. He lasted a whole two days before going back to work and telling me to take care of it. We ended up not going to school until the last few months when Dad found out." Dean gives a genuine smile that makes his face light up. This lead Castiel to smiling along, his stomach flipping. "You ever been homeschool?"

"Yeah, up until last year," Cas nods, not stunned when Deans face gave way to one of surprise.

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed it."

"The football team got me adjusted pretty quick."

The teenagers conversation continued throughout the block so Dean left the room with lighted mood and a football game to be at tonight.

Thoughts distracting him, Dean almost ran into his younger brother who stood at their normal meet up spot. If Sam hadn't had that growth spurt, putting him just past Deans shoulder, he probably would have slammed right into his sibling without a second thought.

"Dean! Watch were you're walking!" Sam says, holding his hand out to halt his older sibling.

"Sorry. Wasn't thinking straight," Dean mumbles, coming back into reality. "You look pretty startled, Sammy. What? Don't think you could handle big brother falling on you?" He ruffles Sams mop of hair and smiles to where it just touches his eyes.

"Are you kidding? No one could handle you crushing them," Sam shoots back, his voice sounding just a little less annoyed. He took the punch to his arm without less of a wince and more of a laugh. A violent wind whips across the boys face, halting the laughter. "I wish you could use the car." Sam grumbles, pushing his hands further into his jean pockets.

"Me too. But we might get her tonight."

"Why?"

"Because." Dean pulled the plastic card from his pocket and held it between two fingers. "We're going to a football game."

"A football game? Really? Who's sleeping with you for this."

Castiel always loved game days. He could stay after school until late at night after the game. He didn't have to worry about being home at any time. Basically, the troubled teen could forget about his home life completely for almost an entire day and just focus on slamming into people. This job, Cas found out rather quickly, was one that actually required focus, so the linebacker tried to forget about the green eyed boy who was coming to watch him play tonight, and just focus on playing.

Castiels mind, however, didn't agree. It wanted to figure out why he was so interested in this new guy. Why his presence affected him the way it did. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that it was just because he was new. The attention his body gave to this boy would die down in a few days and everything would go back to normal. He decided this, however, just as someone slammed into him causing his footing to give loose. Started, he was knocked back into the world of football about the same time he landed on his ass.

"Novak! Focus!" the coach yells from the sidelines, observing the practice. A gloved hand appeared in front of his face, helping him back onto his feet before player 56 ran back to his position.

"Yes sir!" Cas called back, ignoring the snickers from his team. Getting back into position, Cas focused on nothing but the players on the field.

An hour later, the team hustled back into the locker room, sweaty, sticky, and overall gross. Castiel lagged towards the back, his body aching due to the hits on the field bringing back the pain from the beating last night. Trying not to limp, he made it to the locker only to rest on the bench. Running a hand through his hair and then rubbing his scruff face that was in need of a shave, Cas tried to relax for a minute or two when he heard the same conversation that had been lingering around the locker room for the past week; beating up Dean. He had hoped it would die down by now but instead it was just stronger. The longer he was in school, the more people saw him and somehow, knowing what he looked like made more people want to join in on the fight.

"So, Cas, you up for it?" Max asks, making Castiel want to punch him in the face.

"No. I told you before, I don't want to."

"Come on, Jimmy boy! Why not?" Max continued.

"My name is Castiel, not Jimmy. And no."

"Why the hell not! You got some kind of attraction to this kid?" Someone calls from the crowd of about five football players. Cas didn't bother trying to figure out who.

"Castiel's just got to work with Dean for a project; I don't think beating the kid up would set them off to a good start," Nick speaks up, walking behind Castiel to assist him.

"Whatever, Jimmy. You're loss." The group of oversized men, now dressed in their jerseys without their pads, head out the door to find friends, girlfriends, or even head home. Castiel, however, turned to Nick.

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Just sort your shit out with this Dean guy," He said coldly, confusing his teammate as he walked back to his locker a few rows back. Rolling his eyes and trying not to let it bother him, Castiel went back to taking his pads off before sitting down and starting on his homework. He knew it was silly to most people that he spent his time away from home doing homework in the locker room, but he enjoyed the quiet while he had it, knowing he would soon have to go find his girlfriend and talk with her until the game started.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Okay, Sam, we gotta go." Dean says, wiping off the counter and pushing his dads dinner into the stove so it would stay warm.

"I don't want to." Sam states, not even looking up from his book.

"Too bad. Dad's not home and I ain't leaving you here alone. Come on," Dean insists, throwing on his jacket and tossing Sams to him. It landed so it covered him and his book, producing a glare from the younger sibling.

"I can take care of myself." Sam grumbles, sitting up and pulling on his shoes.

"Yeah, well." That was all Dean had to say, Sam knew how the sentence would finish. _Yeah, well, Dad doesn't. And he'll bet me if you're here alone. _

"Do we have to walk?" Sam asks, looking sad. Dean frowned, not wanting to upset his brother by saying yes.

"What other choice would we have?"

"Dad's bike!" Sam says almost instantly, his fourteen year old face lighting up in hope. Dean hated to break it with a sigh heavy enough to break the floor he stood on.

"You know I can't take it, dad would-"

"Wouldn't know," Sam says, cutting his older brother off. "Think about it, it's Friday. If Dad doesn't end up sending the weekend, or even the week with the way this hunt is going, out there, he'll come home and get drunk. He won't even notice!"

"Sam," Dean tried, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come on, lets just go, alright."

"Dean please? I'm really tired. I don't think I can make it all that way. And i-"

"Okay, okay! Fine!" Dean caves, but mainly to get the puppy dog eyes Sam was shooting at him to stop. He knew his brother wasn't usually risky like this, but for whatever reason, he wanted to ride that bike badly. Dean decided not to question-Sam was a teenager and apparently was making good progress with the ladies.

They arrived maybe ten minutes later on their dad's sleek bike. Dean took every precaution to make sure the bike was safe from the teenagers at his school, but still drove through the parking lot to show off. Sam, he was sure, got a thrill from that.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam says again as the walk towards the entrance. He didn't complain about the longer walk they had to take so the bike could stay hidden in a more secluded part of the lot with a secrierty camera pointed almost right on it.

"No problem, Little Brother, but why did you want to use the bike so bad?"

"No reason," He says, but has this little smirk on his fourteen year old lips. Dean knows that smirk-it means something is about to change. Surprisingly, Dean didn't pry on what his brother was planning to do, but rather got lost in his own mind until they reached the ticket counter. He handed the lady inside the box the little white card and tried to pass off his bouncing in nerves as being cold. Dean knew that something always went wrong with him and his plans, so he always planned for the worst. However, the lady handed him back the card with a smile and said they could go in.

Strangely enough, Deans nerves didn't cease. He tried to ignore them though as he walked towards the bleachers to get a pair of seats.

"This towns crazy about football, huh?" Dean grumbled, looking at the mass amount of people in the area before the game really even started.

"Yeah," Sam agrees, looking over the heads of people and lagging behind. With a roll of his green eyes, Dean grabs his brothers wrist and tugs him up the stairs of the metal bleachers. They searched for a while before finding enough room at the end of the middle of the bleachers. When they reached it, Dean made Sam sit first so he could have the edge. To this, he got a glare, but ignored it, turning his attention to the starting game.

"Which ones are linebackers?" Dean asks after a few minutes, unsure what was going on out on the field and hoping his younger brother, who understood sports a bit better than him, could figure it out and help him find Castiel. Sam, however, was looking out around the crowd for someone. It had to be a girl, Dean was sure of it.

"They're the ones that tackle a lot," Sam says without even glancing towards the field. That didn't sound right to Dean as he thought of the boy he sat beside in two classes. He wasn't skinny and lanky, but he didn't look like he could tackle heavy set football boys. Rather, he looked like he could be eaten for breakfast by the players he was spose to bring down. Hell, Dean didn't think Castiel could tackle _him. _

With a sigh, Dean gave up on trying to find the messy haired, blue eyed Castiel in the crowd of numbers on the field. He couldn't understand the game at all, but he tried. Eventually Sam gave up looking in the crowd and started trying to explain what was going on out on the green grass streaked with white lines and numbers. Dean didn't retain any of it, but he tried. There were just too many names and things to remember. Eventually, half time comes. Sam starts scanning the crowd again and Dean brings it up.

"So, what's her name?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam asks, sounding more annoyed then anything. Dean noticed his voice had gotten lower along with him getting taller. He was almost past his older brother now…Surely he'd be far past him by the time he turned fifteen.

"The girl you're looking for. What's her name?" Dean smirks when Sam looks over and glares at him.

"I'm not looking for anyone."

"Sam, you have got to learn to lie better. That was pathetic." With a heavy sigh, Sam sits down and rolls his eyes before confessing

"Jessica… Jess." His eyes kind of sparked when he said the girls name, Dean noticed. With a smile, he rose an eyebrow and waited for his brother to talk about the girl he was so head over heels for.

"She's gorgeous. Long, curly, blonde hair and blue eyes. She's funny too," He mumbles, a red blush creeping onto his face that made his brother smirk.

"She said she'd be here tonight?"

"Yeah, after I told her my brother was forcing me to go, she said she'd come and maybe we could meet up… I've been texting her." Dean thought to how much Sam hated using his phone much, knowing it would come out of Deans paycheck sooner or later because he was the one working hard on the weekends and when he could on the week days to get money for them. This girl had to be special.

"She'll be here." Dean promised but just as he was about to suggest Sam going to look for her, the game started up again.

"54 is a linebacker. He's really good, but he's small for his position," Sam says in the start of the fourth quarter.

"I think that's Castiel."

"Castiel?" Sam rose an eyebrow at his brother who was trying to get a better look at the field to confirm or deny his suspicions. "That's why we're here? Some guy asked you to come?" To this, Sam got a very loud bitchface.

"It's not like that, Stupid. He's my partner for Shop and he asked me to come, gave me the ticket and everything. He's a good talker alright; now stop looking at me like that!" Sam had that damn smirk on his lips again.

"Whatever you say Dean. I'm gonna go find Jess. Come find me when the game is over," Sam says, still smirking as he slipped past him and hurried down the stairs, phone in hand. Dean shook his head and let him go, shoving his hands in the pocket of his jacket.

Castiel walked off the field, adrelin making him unable to stop moving. His teammates celebrated around him, laughing and joking, slapping each other's backs and screaming. It was always a loud celebration, but this had reason to be. The East Wood Hawks had been a tough rival to his team, always a hard game. It was never predictable if they'd win or lose but this time

"We creamed em!" Max yelled, taking the words out of Castiels head and screaming them in his face. Cas hated people getting in his face, but right now he found it difficult to hate Max; he was just too excited. So laughing, Cas pushed his teammate away and continued to celebrate in the mass of sweaty, large, padded men who all needed a shower. Or twelve.

Eventually the team died down. After the coaches speeches about how well they did as well as what they slipped up on and when the next practice would be-Monday. Rest up over the weekend-they were set free. They boys chatted for a bit longer, promising to see each other at different parties that would take place tonight and tomorrow before going separate ways. Castiel jogged over to the gorgeous red head waiting by the bleachers.

"Anna, Baby, we did it!" He says, picking her up and spinning her in the air which received a giggle that sounded happy and frantic at the same time. Cas set her down and kissed her hard, still stuck in celebration mode.

"Castiel, calm down," Anna says with a nervous sounding chuckle. "It's just another game."

"But it's East Wood! Baby you _know _how long we've been fighting them and we took them down like it was nothing! Come on, you've gotta be excited!"

"I am a little," she admits, a soft smiling coming onto her pale pink lips. "But come on, we've got a party to be at."

"Ah, forget the party. We can stay here for a bit." Castiel tried, moving closer to his girlfriend for another kiss. She put her hand against his chest and shook her head.

"You're sweaty. No." Her nose wrinkles and a smile sets in that make those green eyes light up. Castiel can't help but smile. Deans eyes did the same thing, but they were a darker shade of green, like a forest or-

No. Why was he thinking about Dean? He has Anna.

"One more kiss," He begs, trying to cover his thoughts as he puckered his lips and tried to get closer to Anna, who then squealed and tried to run away, laughing as she did so. Her laugh had always been a sound Castiel enjoyed, but now he couldn't help compare it to Deans. Hers was just slightly sharper, like a bell struck too hard. A guitar string that was plucked when it was too tight. That was always Annas problem, so the connection fit. She was always struck too hard. Pulled too tight, too thin. She was the perfect little Christian girl, which is why Cas' parents were so thrilled to find him dating her. However, it was that which pulled her even tighter.

Once they started dating, the other football girlfriends started hanging out with Anna, pushing their way into her life. Despite how horribly cliché the entire thing sounds, they taught Anna how to be a 'proper girlfriend' to a football player. Anna already trying to be a proper Christian, maintain at least a 4.2 GPA, while keeping some form of a social life was bleeding her dry, just to make her parents happy. Now she had to make these girls happy too.

Castiel, she would always say, was her saving grace. With him, her parents bought the social life aspect even though when they'd go 'out with friends' it was really just lying in the park together, talking. The only thing she had to add onto the list of religion and homework to make these football girls happy, was football games and parties. Castiel, of course, was with her through both. So this weekend, they had all three days packed with different houses to be at, Sunday being an after-church brunch at her parents club. That, he was dreading, but he couldn't let Anna know. While she was sweet and kind, Anna could be a bit harsh. She could be commanding and controlling with Castiel, but he blamed that on the stress the poor girl was in.

Anna, who was now laying under Castiel, beating at his chest with giggles to get him off of her. Anna, who, for some reason, he couldn't fall in love with, despite the long talks, romantic lunches, parties, playing, and kisses over the past almost two years. He should love her. He should, but he couldn't see the girl he was pulling onto her feet as anything more than a friend. It didn't make any sense to Castiel. It didn't make any sense to Anna either, who, at their six month anniversary, had confessed her love to him. There was something about the way she said those three words with his name following that had been, and still was, overwhelming to him. Like she was confessing she was the one who started the holocaust. It was a dark secret to Castiel, when it should be something light and happy. He remembered how he froze and how she ended up crying that night. How he forced emotion onto his face and tried to calm her, telling her he loved her too.

That wasn't a memory Castiel wanted to go back to.

"So who's party is this?" Anna asks, swinging her hand that's clasped with Cas'. Castiel opens his mouth to respond but instead is cut off by a deep, gruff voice that sounds all too fimular. The couple starts to turn the corner at the bleachers, but freezes at the sight of a fight starting.

"Hey!" The sharp yell was forced from Deans chest before he could even realize that he had opened his mouth. "Get the hell off him!" Four football players crowded around Sam, sneering words and pushing at the freshmen as he tried to hold his own. They froze when Dean came up, yelling and stepping in front of his brother. The senior didn't care enough to notice the crowds of people that had started to gather around them or the girl Sam had close by him; none of it mattered.

"Whats your problem dude?" one of the players laughs, crossing his arms. "We're just having a nice little talk with-"

"I know exactly what you're doing and I said, knock it off. Why don't you grow up and pick on someone your own size. "

"How about you then?" A slightly lower voice says, closer to the middle of the group. Deans green eyes narrowed, recognizing Max from his History class.

"Nice try but uh… " Deans eyes flick down to his crotch before looking back up at the football player and winking. "I think I'm bigger than you." He noticed the anger flaring larger in Maxs eyes and he couldn't help but laugh. "What, can't take a joke?"

"No but you can't make one."

"Funny enough, Nicolai, your girlfriend thought I was hilarious," Dean shoots back almost imeadly to the second football player he recognized in the group that had now grown to five or six.

"Enough!" Max snaps, putting a hand up to hold back his teammate who looked like he wanted to kill. Recognizing danger, Dean snaps in to action, turning to his brother.

"Get out of here. Now."

"But Dean-!"

"No. Leave. Right now," Dean growls, narrowing his eyes at his sibling. "Go!" Jess, who stood behind Sam, took his wrist and pulled him away, into the crowd. That wasn't the impression he really wanted to make on someone who might become Sams first real girlfriend, but at this point he couldn't do anything else.

"You think you're so funny don't you, Dean?" The low tone comes from Max who had taken a step closer.

"I think I'm mildly amusing, yes."

"Shut up, no one wants to hear you run your mouth," Max snarls, veins bulging in his forehead. Dean started to question what he had done to make this guy so angry. He's hardly spoken to the guy.

"Well, actually-" It was those two words Dean was able to get out before a loud yell sounded over the noise of the crowd changing for a fight, and a fist landed in his gut. Stumbling backwards, the teenager knew that the talk, which he had expected to be longer, was over and the fight had begun. After catching his breath, he went after Max, feeling the anger build in his gut and seeing the same anger in the boys eyes.

It was physically painful to watch the fight, but Castiel couldn't seem to turn away. His blue eyes were glued on the horror in front of him, even when his girlfriend attempted to get his attention and pull him away.

"Come on, Castiel. Lets just go," she tugged and tugged on his arm but nothing. He couldn't stop watching. Dean had put up an effort stronger than anyone else he had seen and even got a few good punches in. However, it wasn't enough. There was, after all, one of him and six of his 200lbs teammates who were trained to do this. Dean really didn't stand a chance. If a teacher hadn't broken his way through the crowd who was chanting the boys on, Cas' shop partner might have only been a bloody pulp. That wasn't how it ended, though. Instead, the teacher was able to get the boys away from their victim and send them away, saying he would see them in the principal's office Monday morning. They walked off and got a whole yard away before they started celebrating loud enough for Cas to hear.

The crowd now mostly dispersed, the teacher stood alone with Dean, trying to help mop up blood and do what he could to make sure he was okay. Dean, however, pushed him away which got a short, annoyed order to also be in the office at the start of the week before he walked off. The crowd was gone, leaving Dean, who was trying to stop his bloody nose, almost alone. Only Castiel and Anna really stood close enough to the zone the fight too place to have seen it. They were also the only two not heading someplace; at least Castiel was.

"Dammit Castiel. I'm going to the car," Anna hissed, gripping tight enough on his arm to leave a mark, maybe even a bruise. She was pissed, he knew, because she was cursing. Anna turned, red hair flying around her like a cape as she stormed away. It was this comshion that got Dean's attention. He looked over and found Castiel, standing by the bleachers, looking stunned. Cas trys to open his mouth and ask what happened, act like he hadn't seen the whole thing, but it was too late. He saw the hurt in Deans eyes that he tried to hide with anger. He knew Cas had been there the whole time, not doing a thing.

Why? Why didn't he do anything? Why did he watch as Dean turned and limped away? Why hadn't he jumped in to try and stop his teammates, even if he would have been hit in the processes? How could he have stood there and watch someone get wailed on like he got every night? What was wrong with him?

He followed numbly the path Anna had taken back to their car. Standing outside, he pulled off his pads and put on a different shirt, one Anna had picked out for him, before doing the same with his pants. He pulled himself into the drivers seat and started the car but, for a while, didn't move.

"Castiel, what the hell was that? I asked you to come ten times back there and you didn't budge! When I ask you to come, come. I don't even understand why you were so absorbed in that fight; that guy was nobody special."

Castiel gave no response as he pulled out of the parking lot, spinning the steering wheel to make a sharp turn that threw the red head a little hard and left her head spinning as she shot a glare at her boyfriend. She started lecturing about how he had to be more careful, his parents 2000 Chevy Truck was old and they should have just taken her new car because it was safer. Castiel said nothing in response to her rambling, blocking it out for the most part as he made his way to the party. He knew he should be excited. He knew he should be thinking of what this weekend held in store for him and how he had just won a tough game and played better than he had in a long time. However, all he could think about was the hurt he had caused in a pair of amazingly green eyes that were too dark to be his girlfriends.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Dean trudged his way towards the parking place, clearing away blood as he did. His body, he knew, would be in much more pain when the adrelin tomorrow than the stinging he felt now. He knew that Sunday would be no better and Monday would be when he finally started to improve. The cuts would still be bandaged and the pain would be clear as he'd trudge through the halls. People would stair, the story would spread, people would laugh, Dean wouldn't care. What he did care about was his younger brother. Had the jocks hurt him before he got involved? Was he scared? Threatened? Nervous? Anger flushed the high school boys body as he thought of his brother too scared to go to school on Monday. He knew Sam wouldn't ask to stay home though. He would be scared, almost shaking if it was bad enough, but he wouldn't say a word because it would put worry and pressure on Dean.

He shook his head, putting those problems aside for later. He had to worry now about hiding as much of his injuries from his younger brother. Pulling his sleeves down and wiping his face again for blood, he hoped that the few punches he had gotten in did their jobs. He hoped the players would have marks of pain from Dean Winchesters fist. As far as he was concerned, they deserved-

"Dean!" Sams voice made Dean jump a little, not realizing how close he was to the motorcycle. Leaning against the black beauty was Jessica while the younger Winchester paced in circles. He halted now and started towards his brother with a horrified look on his face.

"Come on, I don't look that bad," Dean smiles, hoping to lighten the tension with a bit of a joke. While Jess smiles, Sam only narrows his eyes.

"Yes, you do. You look horrible Dean."

"Still better looking than you," The eldest brother smirks, patting Sams shoulder and heading for his bike. "Come on, let's get home. You need a ride, Sweetheart?" He asks Sams crush, who shook her head.

"My dad's here and it's not that long of a walk. I-"

"Nope. Come on, hope on. I'll take you over to Pops," Dean offers the girl his brothers helmet when Sam jumps in to protest.

"Actually, how bout I just walk her over there? And Dean you can meet us there," Sam says, narrowing his eyes at his older brother before smiling at the blonde girl who looked rather relieved. Holding back a chuckle, Dean sighs and even pouts.

"Do you have to ruin all the fun, Little brother? Okay, fine. I guess that'll be okay." He rolls his eyes and waits until Jess has her back turned to give his younger brother a thumb up. Sam rolls his eyes but Dean can see the smile creeping on to his cheeks as he walks away. Once alone, Dean starts to poke, prod, and pick at his face in an attempt to figure out exactly how bad the damage was.

"Leave it alone, Dean. Picking makes it worse!" His pesky younger brother calls back over his shoulder before turning a corner with Jess, whos hand was in his larger one. Narrowing his eyes, Dean calls out the response of "Bitch" and continues to mess with the cuts and forming bruises on his skin.

Castiel Novak wasn't one for having a blast a most parties; he typically felt out of place at best. However, after two hours of house party number one of the night, Cas had come to find he hadn't smiled even once. Anna had ditched him a good half hour before, deciding he was more work than he was worth and that Max would be more fun. With a heavy sigh, the teenager glances down at his beer which, while he thought he had been drinking it, was still mostly full. He turned it one way and then to the other, experimenting with the weight of the liquid as it moved. In the red cup Some of it spilled on the carpet and the boys blue eyes widened in shock as he shuffled away from that spot as if nothing had happened. Moments later, Anna showed up in front of him.

"Are you done pouting yet?" She demands, stealing his drink and taking a long sip. Cas shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn't bother taking it back.

"I'm actually feeling sick. I think I'm gonna head home."

"No, you're not. Because you're my ride and I'm not going home yet. So suck-"

"You can find a ride home, right?" Castiel says, raising an eyebrow and almost smirking at his girlfriends shocked face. "I'm going home. Goodnight, Anna," He says flatly, no room in his tone to argue as he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her forehead before heading for the door, fishing keys out of his pocket.

Slipping into the car, Castiel rested his forehead on the wheel, trying to get a hold of himself. Thoughts and memories played on the blackness of his lids like a movie. He could hear the sound of skin hitting skin as Dean crumpled beneath the blows of his teammates. Wincing, he sat back up and shook his head in a weak attempt to forget the nights troubles. His car started with a bit of trouble before he pulled out of the ruined front yard which was packed with cars that couldn't fit on the street. He was silently grateful, as he drove home, for his car. The walk would have been tourcherous after such a hard week and a long game. His uncle had a trip planned for this weekend with a friend, so he had Friday off, meaning Castiel got the car. As old as the junker of a pick-up truck was, with rusted paint and torn seating, the boy loved it. The memories that he held inside the cab outweighed the way it threatened to break down as it chugged down the road. He yearned to learn how to repair cars in a weak attempt to keep these good memories alive.

Pulling in front of his red brick house, Castiel closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, angry at himself and at the world. He didn't know how he would be able to show his face on Monday. He didn't know how he would be able to sit in the locker room and hear his teammates carry on about how they had taught Dean Winchester a lesson. How they had kicked his ass. He doubted he would be able to sit beside the boy in his shop class and work on a project with him. Perhaps Dean would ask to change partners.

Finally, He opened the door and let the cold air into the car, causing him to jump a little. Sliding out of the seat, he pulled his jacket tighter around his thin frame, shivering as he slammed the car door, which shook when he did so, and headed for the front door.

"Castiel. You're home already? Is everything alright?" asks his son as he walks through the door. He watches the boy pull himself out of his shoes and shrug.

"Everything is fine, Dad. I'm just tired." Cas says, giving his father the best smile he could manage and patting his mothers shoulder as he headed for his room. It wasn't odd for Castiel not to talk to his parents; communication between his family members had faded with him the older he grew. The teenager was use to spending most of his time in his room or out in the garage. Being the youngest of five boys, he had always been accustomed to being put last due to his brothers always having bigger things. He never felt abandoned parse, but he wasn't exactly close to his family. He never had a connection with his brothers or felt the happiness the others felt when hearing about a family dinner or hearing about an accomplishment. Despite the bonding his parents attempted to put them though, the only person Castiel felt close to in any way was Gabriel, who, after more arguing than anyone in the Novak household had ever herd, had gone into the working world already, trying to make it into the world of acting. While his parents were, to put it lightly, disappointed in his older brother, Castiel felt as though he would make it far in life. However, he missed Gabe rather often. The jokester had often saved him from his many older brothers torment while still playing prank on the youngster. Being four years apart and having Lucifer between them should have made their connection weak, but the two siblings tended to stick together like glue as they were the odd balls in the religious family.

Castiel stepped out of the shower and threw himself onto the bed where it laid on the floor, just how he liked it. Looking up at his plain ceiling, stained by his and Gabriels attempt to paint his room using a paintball gun. The dark blue splotch made him break into a grin, his problems momentarily forgotten. It amazed the teenager that, even states his way, his bother could make him feel better.

Dean sat in the bathroom in front of a mirror, picking at the skin that hung from his face and arms. He didn't look as bad as he felt, but he still looked pretty rough. Blood was caked around his lips, which were split in a few places, and his nose, which he wasn't certain on if it was broken or not. Sighing, he poked at the painful spot on his cheek before searching for his first aid kit. Sam had gone to start on weekend homework, but had a grin in his eyes that made Dean think walking Jessica back to her fathers car had gone better than he expected. The older brother couldn't help but grin at that, feeling like a parent.

He had just opened the white and red box when Sam walked in to the bathroom doorway.

"Let me help," he says, walking over to Dean, who was more picking at his wounds than cleaning them.

"No. I've got it." He smacks his younger brothers hands away which got him a pretty serious bitch face and a drawn out form of his name in warning.

"Shoo, Sammy. Go do homework. I know how to do this."

"Not very well. And don't call me Sammy." Moving his bangs from his eyes, Sam pulls a bandage from the box which is balanced on the sink and trys again to help Dean, who, again, pushes him away.

"Dean!"

"Sam."

"Let me help."

"Homework, little brother."

The bickering soon escalated and before long, the two Winchester brothers were wrestling on the ground, rolling around and resorting to hair pulling and biting. While most wouldn't have thought so, this wasn't exactly an odd occurrence for the two boys. Even though they had both matured past the age this occurs, they often found themselves resorting to wrestling to solve tiny bickering issues.

Dean, as always, won. He sat on his squirming brothers chest, a smirk on his split and bleeding lips. This time, he was breathing heavier than normal and winning had been more of a fight.

"Not too shabby, Sammy," He says with a wide smile, ruffling the younger boys hair who quickly shot him a sower looking face.

"Get off me. And don't call me Sammy." Laughing, Dean stood up and offered a hand to Sam, who was already standing up.

"Homework. " Dean orders, rubbing his aching shoulder. Sam, looking rather annoyed, silently agreed by making his way towards his room. He turns back only to remind his brother of fixing his minor wounds before slipping behind the wooden door. Dean, a small smile sneaking on to his face, slips into the bathroom and starts to work on his face, doing what he can.

As he works, the night plays back in his head. He remembers the look on Castiels face.. Why hadn't he done anything? Was it that he didn't want to get into something with his teammates for protecting the new kid? Maybe he just didn't care about Dean? The Winchester couldn't be sure about the blue eyed seniors motives, but he knew that nothing could dull the ache of abandonment he felt. His mind told him how stupid this was; it wasn't Castiels job to be what he was to Sam. He hardly knew the guy, he couldn't exactly expect him to jump in and save Dean from his teammates. Dean Winchester knew better than to be mad at Castiel, but he couldn't help the little pricks of frustration and anger.

While Dean could recognize the feelings he had for the blue eyed boy he just met, he didn't want to admit them. Every time he got that little jolt of excitement when he thought about seeing him again, his fathers words ran through his head.

_No Winchester boy will be gay. None of my boys. It's disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. _

Dean winced, feeling the scars from the belt lashing he had taken burn on his back. John Winchester had found his sons gay porn magazine hidden with his other Busty Asian Beauties between his bed and the boxspring. While he hadn't been upset about the fact these were explicit magazines owned by a 12 year old, John was beyond pissed at the fact one of them had males instead of females. Dean, ever since that day, had almost always thrown up upon feeling anything towards his own gender. He was thankful to find that he had equal attraction to the opposite gender, so making believe that he was straight wasn't too hard. However, a few times a guy has come by that makes it impossible for him to believe that the reason he went to a football game was because of the cheerleaders, not the football player. However, there was something about those blue eyes that made it hard to lie about anything but who caused his anger.

The all too well known sound of _Pour Some Sugar On Me _flooded Deans ears only three hours later, pulling him out of the somewhat dozing phase he was in. Groaning, the teenager pulled himself out of bed at five in the morning on the dot, shutting the clock off immeadly so Sam could sleep in. It was Saturday after all, and the older Winchester brother knew he could take care of both of their chores before running off to work. Today was his first day for not one, but two jobs and the last thing he wanted was to be late, but he knew his brother needed rest.

However, his plan of kindness was ruined when Sam walked down stairs half an hour later with messy bed head hair which he smoothed out by pulling his hands through it once, and nothing but boxers.

"Dean? Don't you have work today? Why are you doing dishes?" He asks, his voice scratch from sleep, a trait Sam had for as long as Dean could remember.

"Because I'm trying to be a good brother, Asshat. And yes, I do have work, but I can get there in twenty minuets-"

"If you have a car, which you don't," Sam says, a frown forming on his face. "Dad still isn't back."

"Then I'll borrow the bike. I'll be fine."

"What if Dad comes home and finds the bike gone?" Sam crosses his arms and gives a face that makes Deans palms itch to smack him.

"Stay out of his way and tell him it was an emergency," He answers with a shrug as he grabs his jacket and a nicer shirt for his second job off of the couch. "Go do homework. I'll be home later tonight to make dinner. Just go hang out with your girlfriend or something if you get bored."

"Dean!" Sams call of protest as ignored as his older brother fled from the house with the door shutting behind him and the final call of "Stay safe!" Sam let out a sigh and grumbles as he finishes off his and Deans chores and makes breakfast. He put on music and started a load of laundry , his mind far away as he started his school work, listing to his classical music and the soothing sound of the washer.

Castiel woke up late, around noon, with a sick feeling hitting him like a load of bricks. He was confused as to why he was awake, seeing as he still felt tired, but he found his answer at the door of his bedroom.

"Castiel?" His mothers soft voice brought his eyes up to where she stood in his doorway. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… Yes, I'm alright mother," He says, sleep plaguing his voice by lowering it.

"We're just worried about you," His father says, standing next to his mother in the door. "You never sleep in this late so we just wanted to check on you."

"Just not feeling very good," Castiel explains, tugging a hand through his hair as the pervious nights events came back to him. "I will be better soon, I simply need rest." His father nodded, accepting the answer without question. His mother, however, stepped into his room and felt her sons forehead for a fever. "You don't feel warm."

"I guess it's just exhaustion. This week was busy," Castiel explains, figuring it wasn't too much of a like. His week had been more stressful than most, but it wasn't something that should result in sleeping all day on a Saturday. He had a party or two to go out to tonight and then church the next morning, both of which he knew his parents would overreact if he missed. And when Mr. and Mrs. Novak overreacted, they went to lengths most parents wouldn't dream of. At one point in his life, Castiel could remember when Gabriel got sick enough that he couldn't go to church one Sunday or school for two days after that. On Wednesday, his mother called an exorcist and, as an afterthought, a doctor to the house. It was safely said everyone in the family attempted to hide any illness from their parents. Also, they confirmed that day that Gabe, as odd of a boy he was, was not possessed by any demonic energy. "I should be fine by tonight, " Cas promises his mother, who was wringing her hands nervously. She gave a nod and offered him various soups and medincines. He only agreed to Nyquil, but had fallen asleep again before she could reach his bedroom to give it to him.

His dreams were plagued with blood and dark green eyes crying for help.

"You're not too bad Winchester," says Luke, walking over to his newest worker who was bent over a bike, doing monkey work. Dean already hated the asshole who got to boss him around when he didn't even know what damn wrench did what. Or what good music was, seeing as some sort of rap played through the speakers of the garage. He couldn't find too much anger in his system as he got it out on the bikes and cars he got to work on, even if it was just simple jobs.

"Thanks, Boss," Dean answers gruffly as he stands up straight and stretches, wiping sweat away and leaving a dark streak of grease behind on his forehead. He looked around until finding the wall clock and sighed. It was lunch time already and he had another ten things left on the bike in front of him. Whoever owned the junker hadn't taken care of it at all. "She's gonna be a handful for whoever works on her."

"I'm sure she will be," the tall blonde haired man in front of Dean says with the smallest grin, being clear that as much as he wanted to fix up the beast of a bike he had started, he wouldn't get the chance. "Be quick with lunch, Winchester." Luke orders, walking away to check on the other workers. Even though this was only his first day, Dean couldn't wait for Bobby, the shop owner to be back. He had interviewed and hired Dean and, while the boy was sure he rubbed most people the wrong way originally, he had found a way to somewhat click with the man. In any stretch, he was a hell of a lot nicer than this ass. Who, Dean couldn't help but notice, had a nice ass.

Shaking his head, he let out a sigh and snuck outside to call Sam and head to a small diner in walking distance. It was one of the few places that was okay with guys coming in covered in grime. Seeing that they were placed by a construction site as well as a car garage, they didn't have much of a choice. Dean could only hope they had pie. He pressed talk on his phone and held it up to his ear, searching for a clean spot on his shirt or skin to wipe sweat from his face with. He gave up long before Sam finally picked up.

"Hey little brother, everything okay?" Dean asks as soon as the line goes from ringing to air, the sign of someone answering.

"Everythings fine, Dean. Making lunch. Dad isn't home yet. And we're out of milk… sorry."

"Again? Damn, you need to slow down on the caluim intake. You're tall enough as it is, why don't you try coffee or something?" Dean smiles, tugging a grimy hand through his hair as he could almost hear his brother roll his eyes.

"Because I don't want to be short like you," Sam says smoothly. "And coffee doesn't go too well in mac and cheese. By the way, we need more mac and cheese too."

"Jerk." Dean grumbles, glaring at nothing. "Eating the good food."

"Speaking of which, could we go out tonight?" He asks, a hint of hope in his voice. The poor kid, Dean thinks. He really doesn't get to experience life. He would be starting his own job later tonight. Even thought it wasn't legal, Sam had been working since the age of 12. Dean tried to do three jobs so Sam didn't have to work, but it didn't work out. Two jobs ran the teen dry, but it would be better than putting it on his younger brother.

"I'm sorry, Sammy, I can't. I'm booked with jobs all day. Do you think maybe that girl you like, Jess, maybe she could come over? Or you two could go out tonight?" Dean offers, smiling a little at the waitress when he stepped in to the diner.

"Yeah…I guess that could work," He says, no disappointment in his voice, but that's not how Older Brother hears it.

"Look, " Dean says, putting on a smile for his brother in hopes it would show in his voice. "How bout we go out Friday? Anywhere you want."

"That sounds great!" Sam admits, and Dean feels better, knowing he wasn't about to abandon his brother.

"Awesome, it's a plan. I gotta go now, Sammy. I'll talk to you later."

"Don't call me that!" Sam yells before the line disconnects. Dean can't help but laugh as he pocketed his phone. Just as he did that, a waitress walks up to his booth with an exhausted look on her face, one Dean can't help but relate to.

"What are you grinning at boy?" She demands, clearly a women who can hold her own.

"Ah, a beautiful face," he says with a wink. If she had been her younger counterpart, who was balancing dishes on her arms as she sped around the place, perhaps he would have gotten a blush. However, Dean was only rewarded with a smile to his attempts at flattery.

"Don't try to sweet talk me. Now, what'll have?"

"Cheeseburger and coffee, fries on the side. Please." He grins as he hands back the menu that hadn't even been opened.

"Simple enough," the waitress mutters as she heads back to the kitchen, order in mind. Dean messes with things on the table absentmindedly, waiting on his food. The rest of his day goes normally, without many bumps. His temporary boss is an ass, and hes far past exhausted by the time dinner rolls around. He drives home only to find his younger brother gone, going to dinner with his crush. Dean makes something for his father in case he comes home while hes out, and leaves a note for both John and Sam before rushing out the door, dead on his feet, to his second job at a bar.

He's, only moments later, rushing around the bar and straining to hear his bosses , Ellen, voice as she explained what and who everything is.

"This is Jo," Ellen says, finally stopping where Dean started. "My daughter. She's in charge when I'm not around. Jo, this is Dean."

"Nice to meet you," Jo says, extending a hand which Dean took as he said

"You look fimular."

"Let me guess, you saw me running through your dreams last night." The words are said with a certain amount of sarcasm and venom that almost made Dean wince; he loved using that line. He chuckled instead, putting his hands in his jeans.

"Not quite, but I'm sure a girl as gorgeous as you gets that a lot." While the teenager had hoped for a blush, he got laughter. Not giggles, but harsh laughter. It didn't bother him, much.

"Okay, get to work you two. We open in ten." Ellen interrupts before her daughter has a chance to respond. Jo did look fimular, Dean knew, but not as fimular as the people he saw later on in the night.

Castiel has been laying in bed all day, submersed in nothing but books all day. Stories of different worlds that were written out neatly on paper. Words that spun around his head, transporting him out of the mess of his life, the questions he didn't know how to answer, and in to worlds where problems were made and solved between the two sturdy covers.

Alas, his adventures had to come to an end. They did just this just as the action started to pick up, but without his say. The book, which had formed so nicely into his hand over the past hours, was lifted up, breaking his trance into the pages. It took Cas a moment to look up and figure out that his brother was standing above him, covered in car grease, name tag reading "Luke" still on his shirt, and Castiels book in hand.

"God, Cas, why do you read these shit stories?" Lucifer demands, a smirk on his face. Cas rolls his eyes and holds his hand out in a silent demand.

"Give it back, Lucifer, please." He says calmly, trying to keep a cool head. His bad mood had just been forgotten and he didn't want to have it be brought back. However, Lucifer had different plans.

"It's Luke, dumbass. Now get up, Mom and Dad want you out of the house."

"It's only Luke at your work, and I'm sick. Now, give me my book, please." Cas says flatly. Lucifer wasn't exactly a common name so any place he could, Lucifer went under the name Luke. Since his collage only accepted his full name and he didn't have anywhere else he really went, Luke was now used for his job at the car repair garage. A job Castiel questioned how he could even have.

"Come on, Castiel, stop being such a Lame ass. I mean seriously, who even _reads _this?" He looked over at the book and opened his mouth to start reading part of it. That's when Castiel jumps out of bed and tackles him to get the book away. "I knew you weren't sick!" Lucifer cries, mid wrestle.

"Castiel, go outside!" loud, booming voice sounds over the boys bickering and thumping as they roll around. The book, at this point, is abandoned on the floor but the two teens continue to wrestle. The fight only ended when Lucifer ended up sitting on his younger sibling.

"Lucifer get off Castiel. Castiel, get out of the house. It's not good for you to be cooped up in your room all day." demands, standing in Cas doorway. He takes a few steps over and pick up the book his son had been reading throughout the day. The page he was on was long gone, Castiels memory being the only hope of finding it easily.

Lucifer pulls himself off of Cas but offers no help to the other boy, who soon stands on shaky legs. "Dad-"

"Don't even start, Castiel. You've been inside all day" voice left no room for arguments nor complaints. He leaves, along with his older son, and Cas' book. Their voices fade as the talk about Lucifers day at work. Sighing, Castiel shuts his door, he knows better than to slam it, and gets dressed. A whole fifteen minuets later, he's out the door of his house, greeted by cool, harsh air that whips across his face.

He has no where in mind, so he wanters around the streets he knowns al too well. Pulling the holl filled hand-me-down jacket tighter around him, he tries to retain body heat. It dreaded winter coming, knowing the snow meant freezing walks to and from school with blue tipped fingers. His football jacket would be stolen by his older brother and he'd have to make excuses fro why he didn't have a better coat. Sighing, Castiel decided that was a problem for a different night. He was hoping to just hang out in a store until he knew his family would be asleep. At wich point, he would sneak back in the house with a note of how he had been out most of the night with Anna and his family should let him sleep; he'd come to church later. However, the teenger knew that plan was too good to be true with his luck.

The very same luck, he knew, that had him walking past an ally way between a bar and a gas station at just the right moment to hear a shout, a clatter, and a noise of pain.

"God Winchester, you just don't know when to stop trying, do you?" The all too fimular voice of Max floats through the ally. Theres about a thousands thoughts buzzing through Castiels worried mind but only one sticks out; _Shit! _

"I could do this all day," Dean's gruff voice is quieter than normal, which worries Castiel a little. The sounds of violent skin on skin contact is louder as Cas steps in to the darkened ally. He can make out the shapes of four people. Dean is held back by two well built guys, both of which, Castiel is sure, are on the football team. Max stands in front of him, throwing punches. Castiel couldn't make out much, but he had seen enough. Before Max's next punch could land, his teammate lands on his back, kicking in the back of his knee to bring him to the floor. Theres a lot of noise, everything from the sounds of Castiel and Max rolling around until Cas gains the upperhand and gives Maxs face the same treatment Dean had gotten, to Dean taking out the two players who had tried to help their friend. Castiel is about to throw another punch before Max throws him off, stands up, and runs out of the alley, team mates following him.

"Well that was anticlamtic." Dean mutters, extending a hand towards Castiel. He accepts it, pulling himself to his feet as he attempts not to worry about how much pain he was in.

"Thanks. I-"

"No problem." Castiel intrupts, his voice higher than normal so Dean wouldn't regonize it as he was already heading towards the street again. It wasn't that he was trying to be rude, or he didn't want to talk, but he felt as thought he didn't deserve Deans thanks. He didn't deserve to hear his voice. However, Cas didn't get much of a choice as Dean took a strong hold of the back of his jacket.

"Hey, come on, let me at least make you a drink. You just saved my ass." Dean tried, his voice genuine.

"No, that's alright. Really." He insists, trying to pull himself out of his Shop parterns grip.

"Come on, let me just-Hey! Hey come on! Castiel wait!" Dean cries as Cas pulls his arms from the jacket and bolts. Castiel doesn't realize he herd his name until he was a block out of the way. The teenager wasn't quite sure why he bolted the way he did, leaving his coat with someone he couldn't glance at without getting butterflies and guilt. Sighing, he kicked a rock along the sidewalk, questioning if he had really herd his name. Dean couldn't know who it was, not with how dark it was.

Despite all the questions buzzing in his head, Castiel knew one thing for sure; Monday would be an interesting day.

Stepping back in to the bar, the first thing Dean got was, besides weird looks, was a very confused and angry boss.

"Dean! What happened to you!" Ellen demands, rushing over to her newest employee who was currently folding up and storing Castiels jacket behind the bar.

"Just a few bullies. Don't worry, I took care of them."

"You look horrible!" This was Jo, who moved hair out of Deans face to get a better look.

"Thanks. You should see the other guys." Dean says with a grin. This gained him a flick on the forehead.

"Go wash yourself up, boy, and don't try somethin like that again." Ellen demands, pointing him towards the bathroom. Dean went without protest, his mind far away. There were too many things left unanswered. Too many questionmarks in his head. Dean Winchester knew enough about his emotions to know he liked Castiel, but he didn't know why he wanted to act on it so badly. He wouldn't be here for long. There was no logical reason for him to try for Castiel. There was nor eason, but yet he wanted to nonetheless.

That was something he'd have to figure out later-for now he had to work. Monday, he knew, would be complex, espically with the black eyes that were starting to form from his broken nose.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The locker in front of Castiel slammed shut without his warning, the force shaking the row of metal containers slightly.

"Hello to you too, Anna." Castiel says, turning to his girlfriend who, in all honesty, he wasn't exactly estatic to see.

"What is wrong with you, Castiel! You ditch me at a party and then don't show up, don't call, you didn't even text!" She almost yells, waving her hands around in frustration.

"Sorry, I wasn't feeling well." Castiel says, his voice strained. "I was not overly concerned with contacting you, Anna. I apologize." He kisses the girl on her forehead as a weak attempt to seem sincere. Then, gathering his stuff, he walks towards black one; English.

"Castiel. Wait." Annas voice halts the teen as she steps in front of him. "I'm just worried about you." Common words from the girls mouth, but Castiel only nods, accepts the words. "Would you walk me to class?" She asked, her voice pleading. Finally, he agreed. His mind, however, was far away from the girl on his arm, and this was shown clearly from the haze that his blue eyes had become. Nonetheless, Anna seemed content with what she got from her boyfriend and kissed his cheek before disappearing in to her first block class. Seeing as it was on the exact opposite side of Castiels English class, he showed up late, but didn't seemed bothered by this as he hadn't attempted to rush to class.

Dean sat in English, his foot tapping wildly in frustration. If one more person made a comment on his physical state, beat up, he would be in yet another fight. After the brawl his dad had on him last night, Dean was in rough enough shape that a fight might really injure him. Letting out a deep sigh, Dean tried not to remember the anger in his fathers eyes for stupid, petty things. For allowing his brother to have a life outside of school; to go see a girl without Dean right behind him. For using the bike a few times just so Dean wouldn't be late to work. Clenching his fists, he let his head drop down to the table, letting the pain from moving black out the mental pain.

"Late to class, ? That's rather out of chaterctor for you." Deans head pops up as he hears the name he had been waiting for. Castiel stumbles in to class, a dull, close to emotionless look on his face and a dark ring around his eye. Dean guessed that could have been caused by their ally fight the previous night but he was sure that Cas hadn't gotten hit on his face. Max hadn't hit Dean on the face so why would he do so for an attacker? Espically a hit like that; it took accuracy to get a black eye like his.

"Sorry sir," Castiel mumbles, making his way to his seat. He didn't even glance towards Dean, his glazed over, darkened blue eyes looking towards the board. His mind had to be miles and miles away if the look on his face was anything to go by. Dean started to wonder where a guy like Castiel goes when his mind is free range.

"Mr. Winchester," Dean jumped internally but didn't show it externally as he looked to his teacher with a raised eyebrow. "What did I just say?"

"Winchester," Dean responds smoothly, getting laughter from the class as the teacher crosses his arms.

"Before that."

"Mr." More laughter and a more annoyed teacher.

"And before that," His voice was thin and he Dean knew he was about to cross lines.

"Something Englishy I would assume. Shouldn't you remember what you say since you're the one saying it?" Dean leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

"Perhaps. But you seem to forget simple things too; such as how to write the correct name on your paper." His teacher, who now stood next to his desk, picked up the lined paper that laid in front of him for notes he hadn't been taking.. "That is not how you spell Dean, is it C-"

"No, no it's not." Dean says quickly, ripping the paper back out of his hands in a weak attempt to stop the name from being said. Somehow, Dean didn't think Castiel would like his name being on Deans paper. "Pay attention." The English teacher orders before walking back up to the front of his classroom. Kids turn around, attempting to figure out what name was written on Deans paper, which was already erased.

Crisis averted, Dean tried to calm down and focus on just his notes. However, he couldn't stop thinking of what Sam and he had talked about the night before. Of he advice his little brother had given him. While Dean didn't want to admit it to even himself, he had gone to his baby brother for advice about his love life; or rather, lack thereof.

_"Go for it, Dean. No _you _go for _him._ Don't wait. He thinks you hate him." Sam said, sitting on his bed with the book in his lap after his older brother had finished explaining his delema. _

_"But why should I bother? We won't be here for long." Dean had said, holding an ice pack to a rather nasty bruise on his thigh. To answer, Sam had shrugged and reminded him Dean had made him go after Jessica. _

Sitting in class now, however, Dean wasn't sure how he could have agreed to his brothers advice. How could he ask a guy out! Girls were easy, say a few words, wink, and suggest a one night stand and bam! She's gone in the morning. Guys… Dean had little experience with his own gender. Some, who were still insisting on being straight, would exchange blow job for blow job in dark halls or rooms. Asking someone, espically someone male, out on a date? And Castiel was a part of the football team. Lets say he was against Dean. He had helped organize what occued on Friday night; it was a possibility Dean couldn't rule out. If that was it, and Dean asked him out on a date…

The bell rung, intrupting Deans thoughts. Had he really spent an entire period thinking about Castiel? With a heavy sigh, the confused teen gathered his things and headed for the door, a bit behind the immediate rush but not far enough behind for his teacher to stop him. He would have to wait until fourth block to do anything about this situation.

Castiel was out of it for most of the day. He sat alone at lunch and didn't talk in any of his blocks unless his teachers called on him for an answer. And even then, it was a monotone drone that gained a few odd looks. It wasn't until his teammates caught him in the hallway that he had to talk.

"Hey, Jimmy boy! So we got that Winchester asshole pretty good huh?" Max throws an arm around Castiels shoulders which he quickly shrugs off. If he had done this last year, Castiel would have left it. In fact, he would have loved the contact. Max being a well built, brown eyes, messy brown spikey hair, all over hunk, Cas couldn't help but having a crush on him. However, the more he talked, the more Cas understood how much of an ass he was. As the talking increased, the crush plummeted, so now the contact was unwanted and annoying.

"It's Castiel." His voice tight and his teeth clenched.

"Okay, okay, Castiel. But come on, what did you think about the beating we gave that asshole on Friday?"

"He has two black eyes, black and blue arms, a split down his lip that looks deep, and limps when he walks," Cas responds in the same tight tone.

"I know! Pretty sweet right?"

"Sweet? You could have put him in the hospital with how many guys you had on him. You could have killed him! He's only one guy and he hasn't done anything to hurt you! Why would you attack him like that!" Castiel had stopped in the middle of the hall, spinning to face Max. A few students stopped or slowed, but most just went around. The smile had fallen off of Max's face and he started to take a more defensive position.

"Why does this suddenly matter so much to you? You didn't care before."

"No. I always cared. I just didn't say anything. But I'm not making that mistake again." Castiel growls, turning and walking through the crowd. He ignored Max behind him and the kids who shouted after him curses for knocking in to him. He simply didn't care any longer.

Fourth block came around faster than Dean had anticipated. While his thoughts were on Castiel throughout the day, he still wasn't quite sure what to do. It wasn't until he was walking through the halls on the way to Shop class. Whispers between students about how Castiel Novak had snapped at Max for beating Dean up on Friday. While no one told him directly, he had herd it whispered through the waves of people like a plague. This high school was a lot stranger than the Winchester boys were use to. Nevertheless, the gossip train had help him decide that not talking to Castiel today wouldn't be fair to him.

Sliding in to his seat moments before the bell, Dean ran over the script he had created in his head once more. Just as he was about speak, his teacher cut him off.

"Good afternoon class. Because you've had a good start on your project by now, we'll start class again today. Now.."

Cursing silently, Dean pulled out his notebook and flipped to a blank page for notes. As he did that, he tore a different page out and, quickly, scrawled a line before sliding it to Castiel.

_I heard you snapped at Max in the halls? _

**_Word travels fast in this school. _**

****Those words are hardly contained by blue and red lines under Deans messy scrawl. Castiels was elegant with small font but big movement from the letters without looking girlish. While Dean had seen this writing before, it seemed different now.

_That it does. It's true then? _

**_Yes_**

This could have ruled out Deans worry that Castiel was a part of the football beating. However, Dean had learned better than assuming something so quickly. However, it did help him in relaxing slightly when he wrote the next line.

_Well, thank you. And thank you for what happened behind the bar. But, if you don't mind me asking, where'd the black eye come from?_

Castiels blue eyes run over Deans script a few times before he turns back to the notes in front of him. Dean tries to ignore it, knowing he had every right not to answer the courious teens question. Moments pass. Long moments where Deans leg seems to be bouncing faster until finally, the lines paper ended up in front of him once more.

**_You can't tell anyone, alright? But I'll tell you after class. _**

_Fair enough. Thank you. _Dean responds quickly, feeling as thought a slight weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

**_Hows the project going on your end? And school work? _**Castiel had written when the paper landed on Deans work moments later. Smiling ever so slightly Dean responds and the note continues throughout the class period. When the bell rung, he folded it and slipped it in his back pocket. They had already made plans to walk home and continue talking. Dean took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself. Talking on paper was one thing, but getting the words to come out clearly would be a different challenge.

"My dad." That was Castiels answer to Deans previously asked question about the black eye. The boy was shocked by the complete and total honest coming from the teenager about such a fragile subject; one that was always brushed over with the lightness and tenderness of a dancer, and hidden behind locked doors.

"Hit you?" Dean asked, and was confirmed with a nod. A deep sense of dread and hatred filled his gut as he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Why would anyone hit Castiel? What could he do to deserve it?

"It's usually just my Uncle," Castiel mutters before Dean can find the right words to get out. "But my dad uh…" the two boys fall silent for a while. Dean wonders silently but he does push Castiel to finish his sentence. However, he still does. "He went through my laptop and found a few things."

"What? Like porn?" Dean asks, turning to Cas with a very small smile. Luckly, he got a chuckle.

"Yes, actually. But not just like…" He trailed off again, scratching the back of his head before saying "Not normal porn. Gay porn. Guy on guy."

"And so he hit you for that?" Dean was sure Castiel could hear the anger in his voice now. He was okay with that, though. As long as he couldn't hear the nerves vibrating in the hunters voice. Nerves of the memory that still haunted him.

"Yeah. I mean.. it's no big deal. My uncle has done worse. It's just…"

"Because he's your dad it means more. I know." Dean says without a second thought. His voice was shaking as he spoke but he ignored it. "That's so wrong!"

"It's not in my house," Cas mutters, looking down at the ground as they walked, slowly, away from the school, with his hands shoved in to his pockets. Dean noticed that he didn't have any jacket on besides a thin zip up. "My family is very religious. All of my brothers, including myself, are named after angels."

"All of them?"

"All five. Zachariah, Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer, and myself." Castiel explains calmly and takes Deans shocked expression with calmness.

"Lucifer?"

"He was an angel too-God's favorite."

"Still.." Dean mumbles but then sighs and tries to get back on topic. "But hitting your child?"

"It's actually allowed and even recommended. If a child disobeyed their parent, they are to be stoned to death. Clearly that is not something that we still do, but if that is allowed, hitting a child is just fine. I know it is not in this age, but when the bible was written, children were looked on as devils," Castiel explains this with a calm voice as if what he was saying made sense. However, Dean couldn't believe his ears.

"But children aren't devils, they're not seen as that anymore. Hitting your child can put someone in jail. The bible is outdated! And your dad shouldn't hit you for anything, espically something you can't control." Dean, at this point, must look terrifying. Castiel kept a calm composure, his eyes locked on the ground. This must be how he deals with his uncle at home. How long had this been going on?

"I think I was ten when my uncle first hit me. My dad hasn't until last night." Castiel answers the question Dean wasn't even aware he spoke out loud.

"That's just sick." Dean growls, shaking his head. At this point, the boys had halted their walk home. Castiel stood against a building while Dean paced, attempting to control his anger.

Castiel was questioning why he had told Dean all of this. His uncle hitting him was something not even his parents knew of.

"is that why you were so different today?" Dean asks, seeming to calm slightly. Castiel was happy for that, angry Dean was unnerving to say the least. "Because this was the first time your dad hit you?" Castiel nods, trying to block memories from the night before. His father hadn't talked to him since then. For all Cas knew, he could walk in tonight only to be kicked out. A touch on his cheek snapped the teenager out of his daze.

"Can I see?" Dean asks softly. He was close enough that Castiel could see flecks of gold in his green eyes. He nodded, trying to ignore the way his stomach fluttered and flipped with Dean Winchester so close to him, touching his cheek, concerned for his well being. The calloused fingers of his shop partner tilted his face upwards to get a better look at Castiels black eye. His thumb rubbed gently over the damaged skin and Cas let his eyes fall closed.

"If you ever need anything.." Dean mummers. His voice was so soft and tender. Castiel felt as though he could curl into and sleep in the softness of it. It had a rough edge to it, however, but that made it all the more alluring. Castiel managed to shake his head in response which got a rather heavenly chuckle followed by "I figured that, but I thought I should offer."

"it was very kind of you, Dean Winchester."

The way Castiel said his name made Dean sure the boy was heaven sent. The boy was perfect in every way when he stopped pretending that was. The football jock was all an act, Castiel had made that much clear. But the boy underneath, the one Dean was just beginning to know, was amazing.

"Castiel Novak." Dean mummers calmly, letting his hands fall from the teenagers face. He wasn't sure how he had kept his hands there for so long without it being awkward, but somehow they had accomplished just that. However, now that the heat from his hands were gone, Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean. Lost in this moment of hope and courage, Dean decided to ask now. You know, there's better ways to see naked guys. Wanna know the best way?" Dean didn't pause for long, seeing the nervousness and defence ready on Castiels face. "Dating a guy. Maybe one like me?"


End file.
